Page 35 of Blade's Princess

"Paid for with her own inheritance," I interrupt. The shock that flashes across her face confirms what we already knew. She had no idea we'd discovered the financial fraud. "That's right. We know all about the Bennett trust fund. We also know about every fucking penny you stole from it.”

For a moment, she's speechless, her perfectly made-up face frozen in calculation. Then she rallies, shoulders squaring as she attempts to regain the upper hand.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I've been a devoted guardian, sacrificing my own comfort to provide for an ungrateful child who?—"

"Save it for the FBI," I cut her off again, enjoying how each interruption makes a vein pulse at her temple. "They'll be particularly interested in how you've been running your charities. Creative accounting doesn't begin to cover it."

The blood drains from her face, leaving her complexion chalky beneath what are no doubt way overpriced cosmetics. For the first time, I see real fear in her eyes—not the performative concern of earlier, but the genuine terror of someone watching their carefully constructed house of cards crumbling.

"You're bluffing," she says, but there's no conviction in her voice. "You have nothing."

"Bank statements. Wire transfers. Tax documents with your signature. Twelve years of systematic theft." I smile, the expression devoid of warmth. "How's that for nothing?"

Her composure cracks, revealing the vicious creature beneath. "You think you've won? You have no idea who you're dealing with. I have connections—people who would make one phone call and erase you and this entire pathetic club from existence."

"Make those calls," I encourage her, stepping closer, using my height to tower over her. "I'll damn sure be making mine. To the press. To the FBI. To every wealthy donor you've ever scammed."

Her face contorts with impotent rage, red blotches breaking through her makeup. "You lowlife thug. You think she'll stay with you? That anyone would choose this—" she waves dismissively at the clubhouse "—over the life I can provide?"

"The life you provided was slavery," comes a quiet voice from behind me.

I turn to see Sophie standing in the doorway, hair escaping from her braid. Angel is behind her breathing heavily and it’sclear that Angel must have rushed over to fetch Sophie from the clinic the moment Margaret arrived.

I’m not sure how to feel about that.

I don’t know if I like the idea of Sophie stepping into the middle of this confrontation. My eyes narrow on Angel who just raises her brows and shrugs feigning complete innocence.

Despite the alarm evident on her face, Sophie stands taller than I've ever seen, shoulders back, chin raised.

"Sophie," Margaret's voice instantly transforms, becoming honey-sweet and concerned. "Darling, I've been so worried. These people have filled your head with lies?—"

"Stop." Sophie's command is soft but firm. "I heard what you said. About owing you. About me being your property." She steps forward to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat of her body. "I'm not your property. I never was."

Margaret's eyes narrow, assessing this new, assertive Sophie with cold calculation. "You ungrateful little—" she catches herself, the mask slipping back into place with visible effort. "You're confused, dear. Let me take you home. We can sort this all out."

"This is my home now," Sophie replies simply. Her hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "With Blade. With people who actually care about me."

I squeeze her hand, fierce pride swelling in my chest at her courage, her strength. The frightened girl I found sleeping in her car only days ago would never have stood up to her abuser like this.

Margaret's expression hardens, calculation replacing the fake concern. "Fine. Keep the girl. But the dog is legally mine, and I will have him back."

"Let me explain something to you," I say, closing the distance between Margaret and myself until she's forced to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “You are done. Everypiece of evidence we have will soon be in the hands of every federal agency in the country. Your daughters aren’t just losing their home and college funds , soon they'll be visiting their mother in federal prison."

Margaret pales as she sees the truth in my eyes, the absolute certainty that I am going to burn her world to ashes without hesitation or regret.

Margaret's face twists with hatred, all pretense abandoned. "This isn't over," she hisses, but the threat sounds hollow now, desperation creeping in at the edges. For a moment, I think she might actually try to attack Sophie—her hands curl into claws, her body tensing. Max growls again, a warning that has her stepping back.

"You'll regret this," she says flatly, turning on her heel and stalking toward the gate.

We watch in silence as she climbs back into her Mercedes, barking orders at her security team before the small convoy speeds away in a spray of gravel.

"You okay?" I ask Sophie once the vehicles disappear from view, turning to search her face for signs of distress.

She nods, though her hands tremble slightly. "I didn't expect... I've never stood up to her before." A small smile curves her lips. "It felt good."

"You were magnificent," I tell her honestly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Fucking regal. A true princess.”

Her smile widens, a blush coloring her cheeks. "I had good backup." She crouches to pet Max, who leans into her touch with obvious devotion. "Both of you."

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